Story 101 - week 3 prompt: Whatever you do, write outside your comfort zone and see what happens.
"What Makes Me Cringe"
Free verse poetry, to start.
I cringe when I see people write write write
No form. No rhyme. Just rhythm.
I love writing but in doing so, I leave myself open for comment
Those confrontational comments, challenging: no mercy, all out.
I could make a list of people I'd like to apologize to me;
Then apologize, too, cringing through the litany of humility.
I try not to think of all the mistakes I make, I've made.
I try not to dwell, I try to remember, I'm not dead. I'm stronger
Than I believe, and smarter than I think (to paraphrase
Christopher Robin to Winnie-the-Pooh)
I'm worthy, I'm a daughter of the Lord
and Steve and Gigi; daughter-in-law too--
Granddaughter, sister, niece, cousin, wife.
What really makes me cringe is the thought of losing hope.
But I've walked through the spiritual desert; I still drink the water
I still bleed. Bleed because I am alive - alive enough to suffer,
Alive because I love another more than myself, lay down my life
Hold a child in my womb and can't-believe-how-blessed-I-am
Maybe life lacks rhyme, and the rhythm is off,
but nothing to cringe over: life, my life, is enough. Is Beautiful.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Newsflash: Nesting Update
And so I have reached the point of no return: I have two boxes left to unpack.
And unpack them I must, because I need:
1) my sleep mask (for the sun that dawns around 6 am into our bedroom)
2) my insurance card (for my ob/gyn)
3) all le crapola I brought down with me, so I can find appropriatehiding storage areas for them.
Once I unpack those, I will return to my Thank You Note crusade. I have a lot of those, still from the wedding and, now, the baby gifts. I'll probably write a few letters for fun, too.
The days are hot down here, with a sizeable chance it will rain (or at least thunder). And rain it does, almost every day. My days are "filled" with writing, household duties, napping, going to the grocery store, taking and picking up Will from school. Bebe is kicking and moving a great deal, and I am generally exhausted from nothing exorbitant. Will has discovered the Tulane gym area, and I am excited to join in too! At least to get out of the apartment for a purpose.
Although the New Orleans heat can feel harsh, it is very lovely outside after 6:30 pm. I've enjoyed our porch picnic area and after dinner laps around the grassy area park nearby.
The downstairs is mostly together, so, these days, I'm up in our nursery/ my study/ our guest room.
Progress is slow.
But at least the crib is built!
More updates later!
And unpack them I must, because I need:
1) my sleep mask (for the sun that dawns around 6 am into our bedroom)
2) my insurance card (for my ob/gyn)
3) all le crapola I brought down with me, so I can find appropriate
Once I unpack those, I will return to my Thank You Note crusade. I have a lot of those, still from the wedding and, now, the baby gifts. I'll probably write a few letters for fun, too.
The days are hot down here, with a sizeable chance it will rain (or at least thunder). And rain it does, almost every day. My days are "filled" with writing, household duties, napping, going to the grocery store, taking and picking up Will from school. Bebe is kicking and moving a great deal, and I am generally exhausted from nothing exorbitant. Will has discovered the Tulane gym area, and I am excited to join in too! At least to get out of the apartment for a purpose.
Although the New Orleans heat can feel harsh, it is very lovely outside after 6:30 pm. I've enjoyed our porch picnic area and after dinner laps around the grassy area park nearby.
The downstairs is mostly together, so, these days, I'm up in our nursery/ my study/ our guest room.
Progress is slow.
But at least the crib is built!
More updates later!
Welcome to my third trimester, y'all.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Regret-less Sex
Originally published at The Mirror Magazine (July 8, 2013)
Life isn't always what you expect, and this post I'm writing was not my initially chosen topic. Instead, I'm writing in response to a few articles I read today, and a conversation I had with one of my husband's classmates.
Today is Will's first day of school for his Master's program, and there was an open reception which I invited myself to as his special guest. Nothing fancy: his classmates, the program directors and corresponding staff, and me, the pregnant lady in the striped dress. The girl next to me and I struck up a conversation, gaining speed as we realized she grew up about 45 minutes from where my husband went to college. We talked about our shared faith, her boyfriend, my pregnancy, where we came from and why we moved to New Orleans.
"Sorry if this is too forward," she said suddenly, "But do you use Natural Family Planning?"
"We do," I said.
"Was the pregnancy planned?" she asked.
"Yes," I said as my husband said "No."
I smiled, and explained that we conceived on my P3 day, which is the third day past my Peak Day and the last day of my fertile time. We knew we could get pregnant if we had sex, and rolled the dice. We got pregnant. Will says "no" because we had originally planned on waiting to try for a mini-us till the fall, but we also had sex knowing we could become pregnant.
She smiled and nodded, and the conversation went on. It wasn't awkward, as the over-details I shared above may seem. I share those details because I need people to know: creation is no mistake.
The babble I hear surrounding sex is dehumanizing. Another couple broken up over infidelity. Pornography distorting love between people. Abortion on demand, with no apologies. Support contraceptives because then abortions will be reduced. Unrealistic sex-pectations, less romance and true love. And, more recently, a friend's testimony about how being raised Catholic made sex (especially pre-marital sex) a source of fear, shame and guilt.
In all of this, I think of my husband, I think of my baby, and I think of the dignity my faith gives me as a woman.
My husband Will and I married each other with the understanding that we will always be married. We married without having sex beforehand, and we married with the expectation of growing our family size from two to many in its formative years. We married in the Catholic Church, of which we are active members. We have different spiritual lives, but the same faith. Before we married, we prepared our bodies for marriage by first preparing our hearts and minds. We talked about everything! We agreed, disagreed, reasoned, compromised, and worked together, hand in hand, in the making of "us". Without us, together, there can be no children.
As a couple, we practiced a lot of self-control while we were dating and engaged. Those biological wants, needs and desires are not reserved for the non-believers: they are human wants, needs, and desires. But a person doesn't lose weight by eating chocolate cake and then throwing it up anymore than a person can have consequence-less sex - there are always emotional ties if not physically bonding ones. And more often than not, the "consequence" is a tiny human being, whose life should not be terminated "with no apologies".
Greg Pfundstein writes at The Corner,
Moreover, the reason couples who practice NFP have a 2-5% divorce rate is not because the pool of participants is so small - it is because of the constant communication the couple has about their sex life. And after you've talked about mucus with your loved one, there really isn't anything a person can't discuss openly. Communication is the bedrock of relationships, of love, and essential in decision-making.
Sex is empowering because I have my husband's total love, trust and faithfulness. I find sex beautiful, amazing and dignity-enhancing, and I am sorry when people's experiences with the Church's teachings on sexuality are negative and guilt-ridden. But their experiences do not negate the true beauty of the Church's teachings, especially Theology of the Body. I know that I opposed sex before marriage when I was younger because I knew people who had been pressured into it, and that scared me. I did not want to be pressured - I wanted to have it freely. I opposed it when I was older when I saw how friends reacted when their boyfriends treated them, used them, dumped them. Will and I talked about what would happen if we had sex before marriage, and agreed: it would be great, but we would regret it. It would feel great, but it would not be as great as having the sacramental all-access pass to the whole person.
There are no regrets in my marriage when we have sex. There are no regrets that I am pregnant so soon after marriage. There are no regrets in sharing all of this, because I want people to know. Sex does not have to be split between the "good" and the "bad", but rather the "true love" and the "love-ish." The -ish means, "I love you but": but not your fertility, but not your baggage, but not your hips, but not all of you. True love means, I love all of you; I will cherish you when I am angry, I will appreciate you when you annoy me, I will trust you above all others, and protect your heart in mine.
It's okay to be scared of pregnancy - Mary was frightened by the angel came to her. She was going to be a seen as having a child out-of-wedlock, and her engagement was almost broken off. She was being given a huge responsibility, a child, the child of God. That wasn't an easy "yes" she said.
NFP isn't easy. Self-control isn't easy. Marriage isn't easy. But they're all worth it. True love is worth it. Protecting the dignity and lives of other human beings is worth it. Supporting mothers is worth it. Honoring fathers is worth it.
And when my baby kicks me in the middle of the night, I know it -- the baby, my marriage, full-of-consequence sex -- is worth it.
 |
Today is Will's first day of school for his Master's program, and there was an open reception which I invited myself to as his special guest. Nothing fancy: his classmates, the program directors and corresponding staff, and me, the pregnant lady in the striped dress. The girl next to me and I struck up a conversation, gaining speed as we realized she grew up about 45 minutes from where my husband went to college. We talked about our shared faith, her boyfriend, my pregnancy, where we came from and why we moved to New Orleans.
"Sorry if this is too forward," she said suddenly, "But do you use Natural Family Planning?"
"We do," I said.
"Was the pregnancy planned?" she asked.
"Yes," I said as my husband said "No."
I smiled, and explained that we conceived on my P3 day, which is the third day past my Peak Day and the last day of my fertile time. We knew we could get pregnant if we had sex, and rolled the dice. We got pregnant. Will says "no" because we had originally planned on waiting to try for a mini-us till the fall, but we also had sex knowing we could become pregnant.
She smiled and nodded, and the conversation went on. It wasn't awkward, as the over-details I shared above may seem. I share those details because I need people to know: creation is no mistake.
The babble I hear surrounding sex is dehumanizing. Another couple broken up over infidelity. Pornography distorting love between people. Abortion on demand, with no apologies. Support contraceptives because then abortions will be reduced. Unrealistic sex-pectations, less romance and true love. And, more recently, a friend's testimony about how being raised Catholic made sex (especially pre-marital sex) a source of fear, shame and guilt.
In all of this, I think of my husband, I think of my baby, and I think of the dignity my faith gives me as a woman.
 |
| Drawn by Bill Donaghy |
As a couple, we practiced a lot of self-control while we were dating and engaged. Those biological wants, needs and desires are not reserved for the non-believers: they are human wants, needs, and desires. But a person doesn't lose weight by eating chocolate cake and then throwing it up anymore than a person can have consequence-less sex - there are always emotional ties if not physically bonding ones. And more often than not, the "consequence" is a tiny human being, whose life should not be terminated "with no apologies".
Greg Pfundstein writes at The Corner,
President Johnson’s fruitless War on Poverty kicked off the nation’s misguided birth-control crusade with grants for “family planning” in 1965. The effort was redoubled in 1970 when, thanks to the efforts of John D. Rockefeller III and George H. W. Bush, Title X of the Public Health Service Act was signed into law by Richard Nixon the day after Christmas. Since 1970, the out-of-wedlock birthrate has tripled to 41 percent. With the help of the Supreme Court with its 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, we have also seen the number of abortions spike through the 1980s and reach an equilibrium today at between 1.2 and 1.3 million annually. Both results are at least unexpected from the perspective of a public policy based on the premise that access to contraception will decrease the rate of unintended pregnancies.The family planning my husband and I do is scientific and based on my body's natural signs. Just as I prefer eating organic and hormone-free food, I am not inclined to put hormonal birth control pills into my body when I am only fertile 5-6 days a month (or 60-72 days out of 365 - below 20% of my year).
Moreover, the reason couples who practice NFP have a 2-5% divorce rate is not because the pool of participants is so small - it is because of the constant communication the couple has about their sex life. And after you've talked about mucus with your loved one, there really isn't anything a person can't discuss openly. Communication is the bedrock of relationships, of love, and essential in decision-making.
There are no regrets in my marriage when we have sex. There are no regrets that I am pregnant so soon after marriage. There are no regrets in sharing all of this, because I want people to know. Sex does not have to be split between the "good" and the "bad", but rather the "true love" and the "love-ish." The -ish means, "I love you but": but not your fertility, but not your baggage, but not your hips, but not all of you. True love means, I love all of you; I will cherish you when I am angry, I will appreciate you when you annoy me, I will trust you above all others, and protect your heart in mine.
It's okay to be scared of pregnancy - Mary was frightened by the angel came to her. She was going to be a seen as having a child out-of-wedlock, and her engagement was almost broken off. She was being given a huge responsibility, a child, the child of God. That wasn't an easy "yes" she said.
NFP isn't easy. Self-control isn't easy. Marriage isn't easy. But they're all worth it. True love is worth it. Protecting the dignity and lives of other human beings is worth it. Supporting mothers is worth it. Honoring fathers is worth it.
And when my baby kicks me in the middle of the night, I know it -- the baby, my marriage, full-of-consequence sex -- is worth it.
Dream Good
Week 1, Prompt 2 :: what is it that keeps you up at night? What could you talk about every single day for the rest of your life? What do you want to shout from the rooftops so everyone will know? What runs electric through your veins?
I have started and re-started this post so many times. I've read my classmates' posts, as they bravely poor their heart out and speak truthfully; and I, I have finished a post and cannot yet click 'publish' - for whatever reason is holding me back. Or reasons. So I'm starting over.
At this point, there are two things keeping me up at night. The first is my bladder. As I enter my third trimester, I have to pee all the time, which is annoying because I also have to drink water all the time so as to not dehydrate myself and suffer headaches/ stomach aches/ the whole gauntlet of pregnancy nausea that I've been trying to offer up to Jesus in moments of sanity. Otherwise, a pity party commences and I don't invite anyone, although my husband tries to come and make it all better. He's the one who usually does make it all better, and lets me cry into his shoulder as I continue to not understand why I feel sick, and why this nausea has never really ceased over six going on seven months. Seven motherloving months. July, August, September to go.
The second thing that keeps me up at night are nightmares: memories that remind me of horrible life moments; a rewind of all the things I have not done during this pregnancy to prepare myself for labor or motherhood; falling uncontrollably; failing in everything; the monsters of myself. I can be my own worst enemy, and when I'm lucid and awake, I can rationally turn these thoughts around and banish them. But in the darkness, when I'm exhausted and trying to sleep and trying not to guess what time it is in relation to when the sun will be up in the morning, all I can whisper is "Be gone, Devil!" and "Be with me, Jesus!" Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, I whimper into my pillow. I am so tired.
But I don't wish this life away. I could talk about my life every single day. I could shout from the rooftops that I have the best husband, best family, best friends. And it runs electric in my veins that my God is an awesome God, a merciful God, a sanctifying God that let me trip and stumble and fall and break and pick myself up again and again. My God is awesome. My God, oh my God.
I've only enjoyed my pregnancy because I know the life I am nourishing is mine and my husband's child. I go to sleep at night only because I am tired and I have things to do: more to write, boxes to unpack, errands to run, chores to finish. I do it all because this is my life - this is the life that has been given to me, and I am going to be a survivor of the worst in life so that I can continue to enjoy the best.
It's too easy, sometimes, to be sad. It's too easy to have regrets or play the Blame Game or wish life went in a different direction. Mistakes are made, decisions and choices from the past catch up to the present, and what can you do? React, and react positively.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, Dr. Viktor Frankl wrote about his experiences in the concentration camp; the differences between those who had lived and those who had died was meaning. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing, the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way,” wrote Frankl. (As quoted in Emily Esfahani Smith's "There's More to Life Than Being Happy" piece; The Atlantic, January 9, 2013)
I'm at that lovely point in life where I've achieved 25 years. I haven't always lived to the fullest, but I also have not wasted that time. It's in the life scares -- nothing is going to be the same, I'm giving myself fully to my husband and child(ren), I'm out of my parents' house, we're living on a tight budget, we still need to get into residency for after the Masters' program, I need to be more disciplined -- that truly show me that I'm an adult. Not a boring person, but an adult, with more responsibilities and joys. And I am truly happy being so. I have my reasons, and I know my meaning and purpose.
There's nothing easy about life, except what you make it into; there is nothing definite, nothing permanent. But there is love and laughter, smiles, good conversation, the best company, a cold glass of beer, picnics, Christ in the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit and God the Father, family gatherings, sunrises and sunsets, walks outside, and good sleeps.
As Woody Guthrie says, "Dream good", y'all.
I have started and re-started this post so many times. I've read my classmates' posts, as they bravely poor their heart out and speak truthfully; and I, I have finished a post and cannot yet click 'publish' - for whatever reason is holding me back. Or reasons. So I'm starting over.
At this point, there are two things keeping me up at night. The first is my bladder. As I enter my third trimester, I have to pee all the time, which is annoying because I also have to drink water all the time so as to not dehydrate myself and suffer headaches/ stomach aches/ the whole gauntlet of pregnancy nausea that I've been trying to offer up to Jesus in moments of sanity. Otherwise, a pity party commences and I don't invite anyone, although my husband tries to come and make it all better. He's the one who usually does make it all better, and lets me cry into his shoulder as I continue to not understand why I feel sick, and why this nausea has never really ceased over six going on seven months. Seven motherloving months. July, August, September to go.
The second thing that keeps me up at night are nightmares: memories that remind me of horrible life moments; a rewind of all the things I have not done during this pregnancy to prepare myself for labor or motherhood; falling uncontrollably; failing in everything; the monsters of myself. I can be my own worst enemy, and when I'm lucid and awake, I can rationally turn these thoughts around and banish them. But in the darkness, when I'm exhausted and trying to sleep and trying not to guess what time it is in relation to when the sun will be up in the morning, all I can whisper is "Be gone, Devil!" and "Be with me, Jesus!" Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, I whimper into my pillow. I am so tired.
 |
| After first semester of college; sleeping with Heidi |
I've only enjoyed my pregnancy because I know the life I am nourishing is mine and my husband's child. I go to sleep at night only because I am tired and I have things to do: more to write, boxes to unpack, errands to run, chores to finish. I do it all because this is my life - this is the life that has been given to me, and I am going to be a survivor of the worst in life so that I can continue to enjoy the best.
It's too easy, sometimes, to be sad. It's too easy to have regrets or play the Blame Game or wish life went in a different direction. Mistakes are made, decisions and choices from the past catch up to the present, and what can you do? React, and react positively.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, Dr. Viktor Frankl wrote about his experiences in the concentration camp; the differences between those who had lived and those who had died was meaning. “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing, the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way,” wrote Frankl. (As quoted in Emily Esfahani Smith's "There's More to Life Than Being Happy" piece; The Atlantic, January 9, 2013)
I'm at that lovely point in life where I've achieved 25 years. I haven't always lived to the fullest, but I also have not wasted that time. It's in the life scares -- nothing is going to be the same, I'm giving myself fully to my husband and child(ren), I'm out of my parents' house, we're living on a tight budget, we still need to get into residency for after the Masters' program, I need to be more disciplined -- that truly show me that I'm an adult. Not a boring person, but an adult, with more responsibilities and joys. And I am truly happy being so. I have my reasons, and I know my meaning and purpose.
There's nothing easy about life, except what you make it into; there is nothing definite, nothing permanent. But there is love and laughter, smiles, good conversation, the best company, a cold glass of beer, picnics, Christ in the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit and God the Father, family gatherings, sunrises and sunsets, walks outside, and good sleeps.
As Woody Guthrie says, "Dream good", y'all.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
O Come, Holy Spirit!
Story 101 - week 3, prompt 1: The Holy Spirit as my prompt and source for writing.
In an age of beauty and technology and words, words, words at our disposal, there is nothing more freeing than letting go of acceptable ways of saying something, of being tame, and, instead, letting that comma be out of place so that I can let the Holy Spirit guide me in writing.
Why do you write? Yes, you. Anyone can write, blog, be a journalist or novelist. Not all those people are good writers, top quality, but they often have the same motivation: they have a voice, and they feel called to write. Write about their feelings and their family, their food recipes and their travels, their theories and their intellectual quarrels.
I know I have hashed out a lot of beliefs within writing. My husband tells me that I always need a reason to believe something. That I should not believe "just because". I agree with him on most levels, but I think that is the scientist in him talking out loud. The doctor who has to always give a reason to his patients and their family of why he is suggesting this way or that. I am no doctor.
This does not lessen my accountability, nor does it take away any legitimacy over why I feel beliefs. Because I have reasons, but sometimes, they're not hashed out all the way. They're not iron-clad. They might not convince him or my readers, but I'm not talking to them anyways. I'm talking out loud, through my writing. I'm talking with the Holy Spirit, who is urging me and talking to me and suggesting to me and feeding into my curiosity and endless knowledgelust.
Must know more. Must keep writing. Excavate.
In an age of beauty and technology and words, words, words at our disposal, there is nothing more freeing than letting go of acceptable ways of saying something, of being tame, and, instead, letting that comma be out of place so that I can let the Holy Spirit guide me in writing.
Why do you write? Yes, you. Anyone can write, blog, be a journalist or novelist. Not all those people are good writers, top quality, but they often have the same motivation: they have a voice, and they feel called to write. Write about their feelings and their family, their food recipes and their travels, their theories and their intellectual quarrels.
I know I have hashed out a lot of beliefs within writing. My husband tells me that I always need a reason to believe something. That I should not believe "just because". I agree with him on most levels, but I think that is the scientist in him talking out loud. The doctor who has to always give a reason to his patients and their family of why he is suggesting this way or that. I am no doctor.
This does not lessen my accountability, nor does it take away any legitimacy over why I feel beliefs. Because I have reasons, but sometimes, they're not hashed out all the way. They're not iron-clad. They might not convince him or my readers, but I'm not talking to them anyways. I'm talking out loud, through my writing. I'm talking with the Holy Spirit, who is urging me and talking to me and suggesting to me and feeding into my curiosity and endless knowledgelust.
Must know more. Must keep writing. Excavate.
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